The morning
Taking medication to get some sleep, my head is set afloat, or detatched from my body, a balloon tied by a string so I don't float too far away. I woke early, but there was a fog still behind my eyes, and I couldn't rub it out. The black liqourice and coppery taste from the medication still lingered from the night before. I somehow fell into my clothing and found myself walking to class. Crisp air signaled an approaching autumn, and I could smell the rot of wet leaves already.
This was my morning.
This was my morning.